


Do Demons Dream?

by elliex



Series: Dreamworlds [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demon Dean, Dreams, F/M, M/M, September 18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:24:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do demons dream? </p><p>Dean Winchester has an unsettling experience that upsets his newfound attitude. </p><p>This story very loosely takes select events from S9 and S10 (per spoilers) into consideration. It was written pre-S10 premiere.</p><p>This is the second entry in the Dreamworlds series. Though (I think) it can be read independently, some background is established in "Only a Dream."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Demons Dream?

+

Dean blinked back tears as the swaddled baby in his arms stirred sleepily. When he spoke, his voice was thick. “He’s beautiful, Sammy.”

A wide smile spread across Sam’s face. “He is, isn’t he?”

Footsteps came up beside them. “Here you go,” Cas said, handing Sam a fresh cup of coffee.

“You’re a godsend, Cas,” Sam said, taking the cup gratefully. He took a test sip, determined it was at a drinkable temperature, and downed half the cup in one gulp.

“He is, isn’t he?,” Dean asked, grinning at Cas, who rolled his eyes in response even as he slipped an arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him close.

“Look, Cas,” Dean whispered. “We’re uncles.”

Cas leaned his head against Dean’s and lightly brushed the baby’s downy hair with a fingertip. “We are,” he whispered back.

Dean stole a look at Cas, at the sheen of tears in those blue eyes. Though he knew Sam was watching them with one of _those_ expressions, Dean ignored his brother and kissed Cas’s cheek. The lips he knew so well curved into a gentle smile.

A mewling sound from the baby interrupted the moment. Cas cleared his throat and asked, “How’s Sarah?”

“Exhausted,” Sam answered. “But good – she’s… she’s just amazing. If you guys could’ve seen—”

Dean shook his head vigorously. “Woah, stop right there,” he cautioned. “This little dude is a miracle, but it’s one I’m glad I didn’t _witness_ , if you know what I mean.”

Cas laughed. “I have to agree with Dean, Sam – plus, I doubt Sarah wants us to know _everything_.”

Sam let out a huff of resignation. “Fine. Just know that it was amazing.” He paused before adding, “And I can never complain about my tennis elbow again.”

The three men watched the still-sleeping baby in Dean’s arms.

“What’s his name?,” Cas asked.

“Give him a cool name,” Dean insisted before Sam could answer. “Something he can be proud of.”

“That’s the plan,” Sam said. “We haven’t decided on a first name yet, but we know the middle.”

“Zeppelin?,” Dean asked, grinning inwardly at the annoyance that flickered across Sam’s face before returning his attention to the baby, who was trying to open his eyes.

“Dean.”

Completely distracted by the bundle of cute he was holding, it took a few seconds for Dean to realize his name had been spoken. “What?,” he asked, looking up at Sam and Cas. His brother shook his head in exasperation, while Cas smiled knowingly.

It was Cas’s expression that clued Dean in, and his stomach flipped at Sam’s plan. “What? You can’t do that to him.”

“Yes I can. Tell him, Cas.”

Cas placed a gentle hand on the baby’s head and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth. “I think he’ll be proud to carry your name, Dean.”

Dean blushed and stammered, “I – uh –”

Before he could pull his thoughts together, a nurse interrupted, informing Sam that Sarah was asking for him.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Sam said. Before Dean could hand the baby over, Sam pulled Dean and Cas into a group hug. “Love you guys,” he muttered.

“We love you too,” Cas said.

“Yeah, we do,” Dean said huskily. “We love you, too, little guy,” he said to the baby, kissing him on the forehead. He passed the baby to Cas, who held him close for a moment. Dean didn’t miss the way Cas’s eyes closed when he kissed the baby on the head before passing him back to his father.

Sam held his son to his chest. “You guys should go home and get some sleep,” he said. “Sarah won’t be up for visitors till this afternoon.” He cleared his throat. “But. Um. Dean? I just… Thank you.”

Dean gave his brother a confused look. “For what? There was no way we were going to miss this.”

Sam shook his head. “No, that’s not – I mean, yeah, thank you – both of you – for being here all night. But, just, _thank you_. For everything. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have all of this.”

“That’s not true,” Dean protested.

Sam smiled gently at his older brother. “It _is_ true, Dean – and, I mean it. _Thank you_.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, so he settled for nodding.

“Give Sarah our best,” Cas said. Sam promised he would and then headed back to the room.

Dean and Cas watched until Sam and the baby turned a corner, disappearing from sight. Dean turned to ask if Cas wanted to grab breakfast on their way home, but Cas was still gazing wistfully down the nearly-empty hallway.

Something in Dean’s chest clenched at the sight, and he pulled Cas into a tight embrace. Cas hugged back just as tightly, nestling his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.

“You okay?,” Dean asked softly.

Cas nodded but didn’t say anything. Dean held him close, leaning his cheek against Cas’s soft dark hair. Instinctively, Dean knew this moment was important, yet he still hesitated, tempted to let it slide by… This was _Cas_ , though. And this was _their_ life. And even though they’d both expressed fears about it in the past, Dean couldn’t allow himself to chicken out now. Taking a deep breath, he asked the million-dollar question:

“You want one?”

Cas raised his head, shock writ in his features. That told Dean all he needed to know, and he smiled gently, ghosting his fingertips across Cas’s cheek.

“Me too,” he admitted.

“Really?” The hope in Cas’s voice made his chest clench again.

“Really.” Dean was a little surprised at how true that was. He missed holding his nephew already, and he couldn’t imagine anything better – except holding his and Cas’s child in his arms.

Dean gently kissed Cas’s forehead. “What do you say to getting out of here, grabbing breakfast, and planning some baby-making?”

“Only if we can go to the diner.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed. “Man, I knew I married you for a reason.” Lacing his fingers through Cas’s, he tugged him towards the exit.

+

A hand lightly slapped Dean’s cheek; he grabbed the offender’s wrist as his eyes snapped open.

“Easy there, squirrel,” Crowley cautioned. Dean noted the furrow between the King of Hell’s eyes, the tell-tale tightness that betrayed his fear.

“Keep your paws off me,” Dean demanded, throwing aside Crowley’s arm and nearly sending the other demon to the floor. Dean sprang to his feet, stretched, and blinked, returning his eyes to their usual shade of green.  He surveyed the room. “What the hell happened?”

“Angels,” Crowley answered. “I’m surprised by you – that brawny one got the jump on you but good.”

Dean snarled. “Well, don’t get used to it. It won’t be happening again.”

Crowley regarded him evenly. “I’m sure it won’t.” He tossed a newspaper at Dean, who caught it handily. “Check out the headlines – we’ve got a lead on a brewing angelic brouhaha two states over.”

Dean unfolded the paper and scanned the front page. Nearly every article pointed to portents of every kind, from odd electrical storms to dead fish falling from the sky. But Dean found his eyes drawn to the date – September 18. All other lettering on the page faded in comparison.

“Coming with?,” Crowley asked sardonically.

“In a minute,” Dean barked. He puzzled a moment longer before finally asking Crowley – all casual-like, he was sure – “What’s with the 18th? Is it a holiday or something?”

He glanced – casually, of course – at Crowley, who was gaping at Dean as if he’d grown a second head. Dean narrowed his eyes at the other demon, who hastily closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes in turn.

“You don’t remember?”

Dean bristled. “Told you. I’ve got no use for –“

“Your humanity, your feelings, yada yada. Yes, I remember,” Crowley said, hand-waving Dean’s protests.  “So if you’ve got no use for that knowledge, why do you care about the significance of September 18th?”

Dean squared his shoulders and glared at Crowley; he allowed the raw power that was constantly thrumming under his skin to rise to the surface, and the audible gulp from the King of Hell told Dean that he’d made his point. He called his power back to him, and the room stilled.

“Show off,” Crowley muttered. Dean raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” he spat out. “It’s the day that Castiel pulled your ass from hell. It’s all rather ironic, really. After all, you’re right back where you started.”

Dean frowned in disagreement. “I’m better now.”

“Better than what?”

Dean shrugged. “Just better.  I still cared then – now, all I want is my blade in my hand and death in the air.”

Crowley regarded him shrewdly. “Yes, so you say. Shall we go?”

“I’ll catch up,” Dean said. “I’ve got some unfinished business.”

As Dean teleported away, he heard Crowley mutter, “I’ll bet you do.”

+

Dean leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, and surveyed the room – it was small, old-fashioned, and furnished with the bare motel basics. A small wardrobe stood to his left. A narrow hallway to his right led to the bathroom, and a mirror cloudy with age hung on the wall. Directly across from him was a nightstand and a single lamp.

In the double bed, Castiel slept – sprawled inelegantly with one leg exposed.

Dean watched for a long while, observing how fitfully the angel slept, how disheveled he looked.

The demon coiled within whispered all the ways he could kill Castiel. Dean acknowledged its suggestions, but he waited for Castiel to leap from the bed and attempt a classic “Angel of the Lord” smackdown.

When Castiel didn’t awake, Dean finally realized that his powers had been dangerously depleted. There was no other explanation for Dean’s ability to breach his protection spell; Castiel had always been meticulous about things like that.

To make sure, Dean drew a fingertip across a still-damp sigil. Flecks of blood adhered to his skin, and Dean tasted them. Barely any angel left, he confirmed.

 _Cas should’ve used a different spell_ , Dean thought. _Wonder if he knows this isn’t going to work anymore?_

Castiel moaned in his sleep. At first, whatever he said wasn’t intelligible, but then Dean heard his own name, clear as a bell.

Dean didn’t even realize he’d walked across the room until he was standing next to the bed and looking down at a decidedly sick Castiel. Damp curls framed his face and fever pinked his cheeks. Dry lips moaned Dean’s name again.

Dean froze, shocked to realize that, demon or no, _that voice_ still commanded a response from his body. He resisted the urge to palm himself, instead focusing on figuring out what the hell was going on here.

Crowley had told him early on that demons didn’t dream, and Dean had enjoyed the respite from the nightmares that had habitually plagued him. Though he knew that he’d become a thing from his human self’s nightmares, he didn’t care. Dean enjoyed the power that coursed through his body, the feeling of control it gave him, the freedom from responsibility and restraint.

But then he’d been knocked out.

He thought back to what he’d dreamed – or, rather, what he’d _experienced_. He’d been standing there in that hospital, Sam’s son in his arms, Cas by his side – he’d known that. He had to admit: It had felt like home.

Something rippled through his soul, and warmth eased past the demonic barriers. Dean sensed its unfurling and recognized what that might mean, but before he could even attempt to quash it, Cas’s eyes cracked open.

“Dean?”

Dean held his demon self at bay, unwilling to let Castiel see his eyes flash black.

“Yeah, Cas, I’m here.” He ran a hand through Castiel’s damp curls. “You okay?” Confused blue eyes met his.

“I don’t… You’re dead. Aren’t you?”

Dean gave a small laugh at Castiel’s utter confusion. “Not exactly.” The voices inside told him to tear out the angel’s exposed throat.

But Dean couldn’t do it. Instead, Dean fetched a dampened washcloth and a glass of cold tap water from the bathroom. “You need to stay hydrated,” he said. He slid an arm under Cas’s shoulder and easily lifted him up so that he could drink.

Castiel drained the glass quickly. Dean eased him back down and brushed his thumb across Cas’s lips, wiping away an errant drop of water. Wide blue eyes tracked Dean’s movements as he sucked the drop from his own thumb.

Dean took pleasure in watching Cas watch him. He was tempted to open Cas’s body up, to make him _his_ … but then he saw the lines of fatigue around the angel’s eyes, and his inner demon’s desire to physically possess Castiel’s body disappeared. For the first time since he’d woken up to Crowley nattering on about howling at the moon, the knot that had seemed permanently lodged in his throat relaxed.

“You need to rest, Cas,” Dean said gently.

“But, I don’t understand –“ Dean ignored him, carefully wiping his forehead and neck with the cool cloth.

Cas grabbed his wrist and forced Dean to look at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Dean said finally. “I’m sorry.” He was surprised to realize that his apology was real. He leaned over and kissed Cas lightly on the forehead. “Get some sleep.”

Cas still stared at him with that piercing blue gaze, his fingers maintaining their steely grip on Dean’s arm. With a sigh, Dean passed his other hand gently over Castiel’s searching eyes and released just enough power to send the sick angel to sleep.

As Castiel’s fingers relaxed around his wrist, Dean turned his hand to capture them. Then, he stood there, dumbfounded as he stared at their laced fingers and realized that, yes, it felt just as it had in his vision.

The long-squelched memory of waking from a dream where he and Castiel had been married slammed into Dean full-force. He could see it – _feel_ it – clearly: The lush greenery of the outdoor garden, Sam as his best man, Cas’s smile, their first kiss as a married couple. And now he could add to that the memory of their meeting Sam’s son and deciding to have a child of their own.

Dean dropped Castiel’s hand and scrubbed a hand across his mouth. This wasn’t right – he was a demon, a Mark of Cain-carrying demon, no less. Reconnecting with his humanity was _not_ supposed to happen.

But it had – it _was_.

Dean swallowed hard and felt the urge to flatten everything within a ten-mile radius - but then another look at Castiel’s sleeping form stoked that warm spark inside his soul. It was… pleasant, something Dean hadn’t experienced in a very long time. He wondered how long it would be before he felt “pleasant” again, if he would recognize it when he did.

Decisively, he typed a short message into Castiel’s cell, switched it to vibrate, and set it within easy reach on the nightstand. He refilled the water glass, leaving it beside the cell. Tossing the heavy plaid comforter to the empty side of the bed, he covered Castiel with only the sheet. He laid the re-moistened cool washcloth across Cas’s sweaty brow - and then ghosted his fingertips across Cas’s cheek.

Abruptly, Dean stepped back. He couldn’t explain what he’d just done. The voice in his head said he should kill Castiel before the waning grace did.

Dean immediately tossed the idea in favor of casting a better, stronger protection spell around the angel’s hiding place. As he would tell Crowley later, keeping Castiel alive was nothing more than a strategic maneuver.

He would ignore the faint flutter of warmth in his soul.

\+ + + +

“Are you sure about this, Cas?” Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes and stepped back from the spell they’d spent the better part of three days preparing, narrowly avoiding knocking over a tower of wooden boxes that had housed ingredients. They'd given up on housekeeping weeks ago, and the research room was in total disarray.

Cas sat in a chair close by, pale but upright. “I am,” he answered.

“What makes you think this will work?”

Cas recalled the message he'd found entered into his cell's notations for September 18th:  _I remember_.

He answered resolutely, “Because it has to."

+

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
